


Flocking Together

by akelios



Series: Fueled By Coffee and Spite [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Belts, Biting, Bondage and Discipline, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Pseudo-Incest, Sex Pollen, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: Tim has a run in with Ivy, leaving him in an...awkward situation.Dick's a good big brother, always willing to lend a helping hand.If only he wasn't on the edge of out of control too.





	Flocking Together

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what I do. 
> 
> I apparently pop up once a year, drop some porn, and vanish. 
> 
> Yay?
> 
> Also, this is the same universe as Alternative Relaxation Techniques, but timeline wise is the first story in that series. Sorry!
> 
> Beta'd by forestgreen, best of all friends! Everything else is my fault.
> 
> *scurries back into her hell lair*

Harley is a few feet ahead, Batman and Nightwing lost behind him in the warren of Gotham streets and Tim doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t let the sharp slice of fear in his gut stop him from taking the next corner down into a dark stairwell. Even with Nightwing’s angry shout echoing in his ears, telling him to wait. Harley’s not laughing, not even looking back at him as she shoves open the flimsy door at the bottom and shoots into the blackness without even a backwards glance. 

Tim knows he should stop, should take a second and get a handle on the scene, on the terrain. But Harley’s been underground for months, with no sign of her and this is a chance to get her back into Arkham, to get her off the streets and away from the Joker and his madness. So he bulls ahead, even as a little part of him screams that this is a shitty, shitty idea. 

The room beyond is warm, almost a solid glowing green in the shimmer of his night vision lenses and his first breath through the door is thick with humidity. Everything is green, and hot, and moving. Tim stops, starts to back out through the door but he’s not fast enough, not for the vines that shoot up from the floor and knock him off his feet.

He doesn’t get the chance to slam into the floor, thick coils of vine catching him mid fall and throwing him into the far wall. Tim’s vision goes white as lights are flicked on, night vision now nothing but blinding. He can’t reach his mask, can’t twist against the thick weights tightening around his arms and chest enough to reach his belt. He can sense movement in front of him, imagines Harley leaning in, mad grin and a hammer in her hands, and Tim slams his head forward, hoping to catch her in the nose. 

Whatever it is in front of him is soft, and it bursts beneath the blow; sticky powder clings to his skin, gets pulled in with each angry breath. Tim is still blinded, still kicking against nothing. The heat around him seems to seep into his bones, until his muscles are giving way beneath the warmth and he lets the vines take more and more of his weight. When soft fingers touch against his jaw he sighs and yields to the caress, the desire to struggle forgotten.

“Shit.” It’s hard to speak, his tongue thick and unwieldy with the pollen. 

Soft laughter spills around him, low and almost gentle. It rubs hotly down his spine and Tim bites his lip to keep from trying to curl into the phantom feeling. The blinding white is beginning to fade from in front of his eyes, lenses adjusting as they were meant to. Just not fast enough to help him.

“It’s just the little one, Harley.” Ivy’s voice is deep and soft, her hand cradles his jaw and he leans into the scratching pressure of her nails against his scalp. “He’s harmless. I told you you should have stayed inside tonight.”

“I wanted a pizza!” Harley is close, too close, but she’s not touching him, just leaning into Ivy’s side with an annoyed look on her face. “Throw ‘im back, Pammie. I wanna get outta here.” 

“Delivery is a real thing, Harl.” Ivy sighs and her fingers are pressing into his pulse above the collar of the cape. “We’re going. Bats don’t leave their young alone for long.” Ivy is close enough that Tim can smell her, sweet and heavy in the air. Her skin is too thick, too damp for human normal as she runs her hand up his cheek, wiping off some of the pollen. Tim tries his best to lean into the touch, a whine building in his throat as the desire sharpens in his body. “He ruined my present for you though.”

“Awww. For me?” Harley giggles, high and sweet and Tim flinches away from the pressure of a vine winding its way up his legs. “You’re such a sweetie, Pammie.”

“I can always grow another one, if you’re patient.” The smile in her voice is clear, even if Tim has his eyes closed against the sight of soft green skin and the curl of dark red lips as Ivy gazes at Harley. Tim’s breath is coming too fast, and he gasps, fighting to get a full breath. “You’ll be okay, little bird. Eventually.” 

Tim grits his teeth, panting, and listens to the soft murmurs and hurried movements of the two women as they make their escape. 

He’s never going to live this down, but the worry fades as the pollen is works its way deeper into his system. 

There’s silence, except for the singular sound of vines moving against each other, and the too fast gasping of his own breathing. Tim hangs there, pinned against the wall, and wishes that the armor wasn’t quite so well designed. The vines press against his legs, searching tips probing the joins, trying to find a way to burrow deeper. He wants to feel the soft touch of them against bare skin, to let the leaves tickle against the insides of his thighs. He twists against the vines, trying to reach his belt. 

He’s not sure if he’s going to signal for Batman or hit the release if he can get his fingers near the buttons, everything seems possible in the moment, in the thick sweetness that coats the inside of his mouth and burns in his throat.

“Robin?” The radio crackles in his ear, Nightwing’s voice steady and sure over the comms. A little rough, a little too loud. Tim moans, fingers stuttering against the hard weave of his tunic armor as a vine snakes around his wrist and tugs sharply back and away. Tim lets out a sharp cry as the movement slams his elbow into the brick behind him, arm going numb in the wake of the pain. 

“N-Night-” A vine curls tightly around his upper thigh, pressure even through the armor and Tim can’t speak for trying to find the right angle to rock his hips, to get some relief from the ache between his legs, the painful throb against the armored jock.

“Robin, what’s your status?” Boots echoing against the concrete and stone of an alley, and Tim can picture Dick running, following the same path Tim had minutes before. “I’ve got your signal, I’ll be there in two minutes. Are you hurt?”

“Mmmmm.” One of the vines has slid up and over his cheek, small leaves fanning lightly against his skin. Tim turns into the touch and heat crawls up his neck. “‘M good.”

“Yeah, you sound just fine.” Dick’s voice is angry, and Tim shakes his head, trying to figure out why. He feels great. He’s not sure what the problem is. A thicker vine is wrapping around his waist, hugging him tightly.

It feels nice. 

There are vines twisting on the floor in front of him, writhing and coming together and pulling apart. Some of them glisten thick and slickly while others are thin and velvety like the ones flicking and teasing along Tim's bare skin. Tim closes his eyes against the thought of the heavy vines against his naked body, breaching him, taking and filling him up until he couldn’t breathe without feeling them inside of him with each heartbeat. 

Tim blinks his eyes open, determined to get the utility belt off so he can start disarming the safeties on the suit. 

Nightwing is making his way through the room towards Tim, escrima sticks out and Tim can make out the glow that means the stun is turned on even in the brightly lit room. 

“So. We need to work on your definition of fine, little brother.” Dick’s mouth is a thin hard line and Tim hunches his shoulders, ashamed at being trapped. But then the vine curling around his thigh crawls higher, writhing against the jock with enough strength that Tim can feel it through the armor. He forgets his shame, forgets Dick’s anger. Tim moans, needing more of that touch, and rocks his hips up into the vine. 

Tim catches sight of a vine that is trying to slide up beside Dick, but the older man jabs one of his weapons into it without pausing, the electricity sparking through the vine that flinches back as if it’s aware, skin crackling and turning black as it retreats. 

“I’ve got him B. Apparently Ivy’s been hiding Harley.” A small pause. “Yeah.” Nightwing is in front of him, and that’s worse. He glances at the deflated pod that Tim had headbutted and then sighs, starts cutting through the vines. Some of them retreat rather than die and Tim whimpers, distressed by their absence. He curses and kicks out, catching Dick in the thigh before the man turns, hand hard in Tim’s hair and yanks his head back so hard he can hear his teeth slamming together. “No, no, it’s the- he’s fine. I mean. He’ll be fine. It’s one of the...you know. One of Ivy’s _friendly_ little variants.”

“C’mon….” Tim snakes his arm around Dicks back as soon as it’s free, hand curling around the back of his neck to pull the older vigilante in closer. He smiles at Dick, and darts in for a quick kiss, the soft press of lips to his own like silk even with the pain of Dick’s grip on his hair to give a sharp line to his pleasure. “It’s fine. This is fine.”

“Jesus.” Dick licks his lips and they’re close enough that Tim can feel the movement against his own. The last vine retreats and Tim falls against Dick’s body, armor thick and heavy and in the way. The air is full of the spicy smell of the vines and the pollen. Tim reaches for his belt, finally, mouthing at Dick's jaw as he moves, and there’s a full body tremor from the man holding him up. 

“Look, I’m gonna...we’re gonna go to P base,” Dick gasps. “It’s not...we’re not going to make it back to C tonight.”

Tim whines at the grip that appears around his wrist, fingers sharp even through the armor as Dick pinches and twists, making Tim’s hand go numb and useless. Dick pulls Tim in close, pins him against his body so that he can’t quite get to the bare skin of his throat.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay. You know-” Another shudder, disguised beneath a sigh. “You know what I mean. Unless you-” A growl, and Tim tries to imagine the sound against his throat, against his hips, rather than above his head. He shivers and curls in closer to Nightwing. “That’s what I thought. Usual procedure. Nightwing out.”

Tim is trying to remember where the right latch is on Dick’s costume so that he doesn’t get shocked when he tries to pull down the thin armor. All he really wants to do is get his mouth back on Dick's body, anywhere he can, though he can almost taste the length of Dick in his mouth, can imagine the weight and the stretch of his lips around it. 

“Hey. Hey.” Dick catches Tim’s hand and pulls it away from his body. Tim hisses through his teeth and tries to glare up into the whites of Dick’s mask. “That’s not- you know that’s just going to get you knocked on your ass, Timmers.” He leans away and stares at the ceiling for a long minute before locking eyes with Tim again. “We’re gonna head somewhere private, okay? Get cleaned up a little.” 

He runs a thumb across Tim’s lips, and Tim smiles, lips parting to take the digit in, to let the rough pattern of kevlar weave press into his tongue. Dick’s next breath is a sharp inhale and Tim can feel him try to retreat, but he bites down, locks his lips around the black cloth and sucks. Its dirt and dust and sweat from the soft skin beneath it that soaks through into his mouth and Tim sighs around it, eyes closing for a second before Dick’s other hand is digging into his jaw, forcing him to release his grip. 

“Why?” Tim can hear the disappointment in his voice, wonders if it would help if he could get the armor off, if he could cool down a little and feel something other than the sharp edges of _want_ against his skin. “We can do it here, Dick. No one’s coming.”

“No.” Dick’s hands are on his shoulders, holding him back, and Tim can see a bead of sweat trailing down his face. “Not here. It’s not safe. We’re going back to base and we’re going to stay there for a while. You’re gonna come with me. To where we’re safe and comfortable.” His hands convulse on Tim’s shoulders, almost hard enough to hurt even through the armor, and he grits his teeth on what looks like a groan. “You have to come with me, little brother. Don’t make me drag you.”

“Okay.” Tim’s answer is little more than a whisper. 

They take the bike, and Tim isn’t entirely sure how they make it to the penthouse. There’s nothing in his mind but the press of his body against Dick’s, the heat between them and the way that Dick’s breath hitches rough every time Tim rocks into him, every time he runs his hand down to the hard curve of his thigh. There’s bright lights and the scream of sirens and the cacophony of the city around them and then they’re sliding into the hidden entrance to soft guiding lights and the rumbling echo of the bikes engine in the narrow corridors. 

Dick pushes Tim towards the shower first, and Tim resists, leans into the touch to try and catch Dick’s hand, to drag him along. But Dick growls, spins Tim around without a word and slams the door shut between them with enough force that it rattles in the frame. 

“Clean yourself up and then we’ll talk.” Dick’s voice is a growl that goes straight through Tim. 

Tim reaches for the handle but it refuses to turn. Not locked, the bathroom doors don’t lock, too many of them have passed out down here for that to be safe. 

Dick is holding the damn door shut on him and Tim...

There’s a brief sense of rejection, of hurt, before Tim is filled with the knowledge that the hot water will feel incredible against his skin, and he’s finally someplace where he can strip and take care of the need hard in his gut. He strips out of the suit as quickly as he can, pulls the mask off too fast and there’s a sharp pull of pain when the adhesive hasn’t dissolved enough, a tiny bite that has him leaning against the cool tile of the shower stall and _finally_ wrapping a hand around himself. 

Tim’s hard and wanting, and he’s never understood the idea of being hard enough that it hurts until now, until he’s not slick enough for comfort but still jerking into his hand, pain and pleasure coming together in twisted up knots. He closes his eyes, imagines Dick curled around him from behind, gloved hand tight on his cock, bright blue stripes drawing the eye until he can’t look away from the hand bringing him off, taking him in long sure strokes that burn almost as much as they feel good. 

He comes with a cry that’s almost a sob, pleasure and relief making his legs weak. 

Tim keeps his eyes closed, clings to the illusion and brings his coated hand up to his own lips, licks the thick smears of his own come from his fingers. He sucks, and moans, and shivers at the imagined texture of gloves against his lips, on his tongue, pressing down and making him take his release back into himself. 

There’s a part of Tim that wants to throw the door back open, to go find Dick now, naked and stained with his own come and see if he will still growl and tell him to clean himself up first. He opens his eyes instead and reaches to turn the water on, cold and then quickly hot, steam rising up around him to fill the room even before he steps under the cascade of falling water. 

Tim stands half under the rushing water, lets it start to pound into his back, ease some of the aches. There’s a full length mirror across the room from the shower, no curtains or walls to stop him from staring, from examining his reflection in the quickly fogging over glass.

Slender and pale, muscles firm and skin practically unscarred. He can see that his eyes are dark, blown with lust and the rising tide of his desire is echoed in his cock, shining with come and beginning to harden again. His face is flushed, mouth red and swollen. He watches himself lick his lips, catching the faint traces of come that glisten beneath the shower lights. 

The small room fills with steam quickly, the mirror fogging over until all he can see of himself is a wavy, distorted form. Tim steps backward into the water, lets it crash down around him in hot needling sheets. It burns, almost at the edge of his endurance, and Tim spreads his arm, lets the sensation sink into him, lets his flesh turn hot and overly sensitized.

He snags the body wash from the shelf above the shower controls, bites his lip as he grabs a thick towel from outside the shower itself and then sinks back into the farthest corner, settling the towel onto the bench seat there before sitting on top of the mounded cloth. The towel soaks through quickly from the water sliding off of Tim’s skin and the spray from the shower head reaching him even there. It’s still softer than the bench, and the press of it against his balls, against the underside of his cock is fascinating. It’s enough to distract him for a second, to have him rock slowly back and forth, legs spread. 

Tim watches the phantom form in the mirror, dragging himself back and forth with slow, uneven movements, hands reaching out to brace against the walls, fingers slipping against the tile in desperation. Tim pours the wash into one hand, groans at the thick slickness of it when he wraps shaking fingers around himself. It’s warm from the water, from his own skin, and he’s struggling to keep from moving faster, from rubbing himself raw again. 

He wants to last, he wants to feel good and keep the feeling of _want_ and _satisfaction_ going forever, until he’s nothing but a bundle of nerves dedicated to pleasure. Tim steadies himself against the wall, tile pressing into his back, and braces his feet. He watches himself in the mirror, his hand stroking too slowly, too long, watches the faint stretch of his arm as he twists around the head of his cock, as he flicks his thumb over the slit. Tim fights the urge to go faster, to squeeze just a little bit harder on the downstroke, to bring himself off too quickly. 

Tim reaches up, strokes his hand up over his stomach, muscles twitching with need, and pinches at one nipple. He yelps at the small pain, at the throb that echoes through him. He pinches the other nipple, imagines teeth on the small, pebbled nub and a hot tongue following the pain, soothing and caressing until it’s time to bite again. 

Tim fondles himself, feels the heave of every breath through his stomach when he presses, when he rakes dull nails over the curve of muscle as he flexes. His reflection echoes him, and Tim watches himself bring his hand up over his chest, his throat, stroke fingers over his mouth and he wants it to be something else sliding between his lips to muffle the gasps and moans as he finally speeds up, finally lets himself fall into the looming orgasm. 

Tim comes and it splatters his thighs. He keens, muffled by his own hand, and shakes on the bench. 

When it’s over there are tooth marks in his hand and he’s nothing but a collection of sharp edges. Tim breathes until he can stand, until he can move under the spray and let it wash away the remains of his second orgasm. There’s a tingling inside of his skin, and his head is nothing but an aching point floating somewhere above the rest of his body. 

Tim scrubs until he can’t feel the weight of his own release on his skin anymore. The water feels like pin pricks on his skin, as if he’s been thinned out and pulled open, every splash a caress and too much at the same time. Like he’s nothing but raw nerve and desire. 

Tim stands under the spray and he can feel the tracks of water down his chest, rivulets that flow and tickle down around his cock, leaving behind tingling need. There’s something wrong. He’s fighting to not take his lax cock in hand again, to take the heat reddened flesh and drag a third orgasm out in spite of knowing that it will hurt. He _wants_ and yet he doesn’t at the same time. 

“Fuck.” Tim runs his hands down his thighs, and there’s the flash of a hand against the back of his neck, the desire to find Dick and get to his knees. He _wants_ , but he doesn’t want himself. He wants Dick. “Fucking Ivy.”

The giggle that escapes is helpless, unstoppable. 

He turns off the shower and dries off, fragments of his mind clear for the moment. Tim drags on a pair of old sweatpants, but can’t find a shirt that’s soft enough. When clarity starts to slip under the haze of desire again, he takes a deep breath and yanks the door open.

Dick is on the floor on the other side, sitting, still in his uniform, only his mask gone.

Tim stares for too long, brain caught on the question of what Dick’s mouth would feel like. “I-” He stutters, and Dick’s head whips up, eyes too dark blue in a darkly flushed face. Could Tim get a good enough grip on the long strands of hair to control the pace of the kiss? Probably not. Dick would take control and use Tim however he wanted. A rush of desire washes through him. He needs to leave or he will…. “Sleep. Night.” And Tim is not running, he’s just moving fast, too fast; he almost trips on his way into the elevator. 

He jams in the code with shaking fingers, carefully doesn’t touch himself through the worn fabric of his sweats, and rides the elevator to the penthouse with a half held breath. The lights are all on when he steps out, too bright for anything like the comfortable slink he wants to make to his room. Tim dashes through the living room, carpet thick and heavy beneath his feet, and he’s got the door closed and locked before he can think about it. 

Tim burrows beneath the sheets of his bed, comforter on the floor, too hot and heavy for what he wants. There’s lube...somewhere in the room, he knows this, knows that he stowed it away carefully after the last stay here, his body thrumming tight with adrenaline...he just can’t think of where it is at the moment. But it doesn’t matter. He’s going to be still and quiet and asleep until Dick goes to his own room, until it’s safe and silent and he can bring himself off again. 

He’s not going to die from making himself wait.

No matter what it feels like. 

Tim curls up beneath the sheets, eyes wide in the semi-darkness - he’s left the light on but he can’t be bothered to get up and turn it off. It’s more important that he stay right where he is, that he can keep running his fingers over the soft fabric of his sweats. Keep feeling the weave beneath his fingers, his thighs clenching with the need to get more pressure, more sensation. 

“Tim?” Dick at the door, and the handle turns, he can hear the clunk. But he’s locked it and he doesn’t have to peek out of his cocoon to hear it rattle followed by Dick’s not quite soft enough cursing. “Tim open the door.”

“Sleeping!” Tim knows his voice is too loud, too high. He can’t help it. Like he can’t help the small grinding motions that he’s started making against the mattress. His sweats are already pushed down low on his hips and he doesn’t remember doing it. The tug of the fabric when he tries to spread his legs more is...sweet. He reaches up, pulls one of the pillows down under the sheets with him and he’s angling it beneath his hips, flushed and growing hard again when the door splinters inward. 

Tim startles upright, a shriek caught in his throat that settles into a moan as the angle strokes his cock over the soft fabric of the pillow. Dick is in the doorway, dressed only in worn cut off sweats that are too thin for how damp his skin is - sweat and water dripping from his hair as if he’d started to shower and stopped without bothering to finish. Tim is not...he can see the outline of Dick’s erection through the wet material of his sweats. Tim rocks his hips against the pillow again and this is not what he wanted, but Dick is staring, not moving except for the rocking motion of his body with each deep breath. 

Dick licks his lips, and Tim flushes, looks away and down at the white expanse of the sheets beneath him. “Can I see?” 

Tim shakes his head, tries to get his throat working again to tell Dick to leave, he can handle this, Dick doesn’t need to see his weakness. 

“Timmy.” 

Dick is moving across the room, his footsteps loud in the silence. 

“Timmy.” 

There’s a hand on the top edge of the sheet, sliding it down over Tim’s back and hips. He closes his eyes, shudders when the cool air blows over his skin and rocks his hips down and forward. 

The bed dips beside him and Tim sighs at the soft shift of motion, the heat from Dick’s body soaking in next to him. He keeps it slow, keeps the drag of soft cloth against his skin light even as he shivers from the tease. Dick is silent, watching.Tim probably looks ridiculous, red and flushed, but it doesn’t matter at all as he fights to get the right angle, something a little more forceful. He spreads his legs and the old elastic digs into his thighs, Tim imagines the bright red line it’s leaving against his skin and he bites down on his own arm to stifle the whimper. 

“Hey, hey, no. Let me hear you.” Dick has a hand on his back, a hand in his hair and he’s pulling, forcing Tim to release his arm, to let his head fall back, his mouth open. The next thrust drives a soft cry from him and Dick’s hand is soothing down his back, cupping his ass. He pushes at the sweats, pushes them further down Tim’s legs and Tim is crying out with each breath, sweat slicking down his hair, his back. He’s close, so close, but it keeps slipping away, leaving him shaking.

“Can’t.” Tim breathes, and his arms are aching, his lungs heaving. He tries to push up, to abandon this. He’s fumbling already for his cock but Dick’s hand is there, pushing him down, pinning him to the bed in a tangled heap. The hand between his shoulders is hard, unyielding. “Dick, please. Let me up. I need to just- it’s not enough!”

“No. You’re going to come like this, little brother. I’m gonna watch you come like this, humping your pillow like a fumbling virgin.” Dick presses down harder, leaves Tim gasping as he reaches down with his other hand, slides between Tim’s hips and the pillow until he’s cradling Tim’s cock, angling and pinning it up against his stomach. “Like this.” He rocks his arm forward, slides his hand back to cup Tim’s balls and Tim moves with him, forward and back with each insistent tug.

Dick rolls Tim’s balls in his hand, squeezes gently when he feels Tim hesitate to move. Tim is fighting him, shaking and crying out and Dick leans down to lick along the line of his spine. Tim sobs and Dick squeezes as Tim comes, milking him through it in time with the pulses of his orgasm.

Tim collapses, limbs limp, eyes closed. His breathing is shallow and uneven, short desperate gasps as he comes down from the high. Dick rolls him onto his back, the pillow leaving his hips elevated, making him feel like an offering to some capricious god. There’s come, warm and wet on his stomach, and the feel of Dick’s hand trailing through it is enough to make him crack his eyes open, to try and catch a glimpse of Dick’s darker skin against his own pale flesh, both of them gleaming with his seed.

“Open up.” Dick is leaning over him and Tim opens his mouth without a word, something like bliss floating through him at the taste of Dick's skin spiced with Tim's come filling his mouth. He sucks, gently, tongue flicking out to gather every drop he can reach. Tim groans around Dicks fingers, eyes wide and fixed on Dick’s face.

The angle is bad, Tim knows he’s going to have to move soon, but Dick shows no signs of withdrawing. He slides his fingers in deeper, until Tim is fighting not to gag, eyes tearing up and teeth scraping over Dick’s knuckles when he swallows.

Dick smiles, lips falling open as his breathing gets faster, deeper. Tim can’t see what he’s doing, is having trouble focusing on anything except for the salty taste of his own come and the feel of Dick’s fingers in his mouth, keeping him spread open and groaning. But Dick is moving, shoulder rolling in a pattern that seems so familiar, heat rising in his face, skin darkening, eyes going unfocused. 

Tim whines, tries to roll. He wants to see, needs to see Dick bringing himself off. He can’t imagine it, needs to see it. But his legs are still tangled in the sweats and Dick shakes his head when Tim tries to plead, slides his hand out of Tim’s mouth and brings it to rest, wet and hot from Tim’s attentions, beneath Tim’s jaw. 

“Dick…” Tim is gasping, hips coming up off of the bed in a futile arc, but he can’t get the leverage to flip himself with Dick’s hand pressing hard enough to bruise on his throat. “Please.” 

“No.” Dick comes, his hand clenching down around Tim’s throat until Tim can get nothing out but a ragged breath. Tim can’t see, but Dick is close enough that Tim feels the spatter of come across his side, over his chest. He laughs, breathlessly, and warmth spreads through his body, near orgasmic. His heels dig into the bed, one hand clenched in the sheets, the other braced against Dick’s arm.

The world goes quiet. Dick’s hand leaves his throat, but he’s being moved, Dick’s hands on his hips, his sides. He twitches against the slick wet slide of a tongue running over his skin. It takes him too long to put it together, his brain accepting input again, realizing that Dick is licking him clean - licking his own come off of Tim’s body and that’s too much. 

He reaches for his own cock again, already half hard but Tim’s not really surprised when Dick’s hand closes around his wrist, dragging him away from his goal. 

“I don’t think so, little brother.” Dick is draped over him, heavy and comforting. The bite that follows, teeth sinking into Tim’s shoulder is a shock, his breath exploding out of him in a yelp. There’s a line of bites, sharp and deliberate from the curve of Tim’s shoulder to his chest. He’s tensing, expecting a bite to his nipple, and he’s hard between their bodies, cock slick and sliding between their stomachs. Tim thinks he could come just from this. But the bite never comes, it’s just the warmth of Dick’s mouth closing over the sensitive peak. 

Heat and suction and the slide of Dick’s tongue over his nipple and Tim is locking his legs around Dick’s hips, trying to get enough room to rock between them. But Dick is bigger, stronger, and he holds Tim down without a pause in his attentions, letting his teeth scrape gently over the tip before beginning a line of bites to Tim’s neglected nipple. 

“Dickdickpleasecomeonletmemove.” Tim brings his hands up to Dick’s shoulders, digs his nails in and babbles desperately when Dick pins his hips down against the bed. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

“No.” A last bite against Tim’s throat and then the weight of Dick’s body against his is gone.

Tim blinks, hands grasping at nothingness and then there is wet heat surrounding his cock and Tim arches up off of the bed with a scream. Dick’s mouth is around him, nose brushing the soft skin of Tim’s stomach and when Dick moans Tim can feel it in his spine. He struggles to reach Dick, wants to press his hands against Dick’s cheeks, feel himself as Dick sucks him dry. 

He comes with a shudder and a shout, hands clawing at his own stomach as a spit slick finger breaches him. 

The world stutters to a stop for a second, and when it returns Dick is kissing him, hard and fast. Tim whines and opens his mouth, lets Dick in deeper. He groans at the familiar taste, the sweet bite of his own come being given back. 

When Dick pulls away Tim is smiling and breathless, hands running over both of their sweat slick bodies. He can feel Dick getting hard again, cock rubbing over his thigh. 

“I wanna suck you.” Tim’s voice is harsh, almost unrecognizable. He laughs and it’s the same crackling tone. “Please.”

“God, little brother. You’re killing me.” Dick curls around Tim, kissing an already forming bruise on his throat as he flicks Tim’s aching nipples almost idly. “We need some water. You stay here and maybe I’ll give you my cock when I get back.”

Dick rolls off the bed with grace and Tim watches him leave, admiring the flex of muscles as he moves. 

Tim means to wait. He feels loose and bruised in every muscle, his head is swimming and every breath brings him the mingled scents of his come and Dick’s. Still, Dick is gone and Tim wants to feel that length against his tongue, wants to gag on it and let Dick push further and further into his throat until he can’t breathe. And Dick isn’t back yet. 

Tim groans and rolls to the edge of the bed, stands with aching slowness and manages to step out of the stained and stretched sweats without falling flat on his face. He stumbles out into the hall, into the living room and his mind is dancing with thoughts of Dick. Dick is visible in the kitchen, bottled waters in hand, and Tim drops to his knees beside the couch, waiting. 

“I thought I told you to wait in the bedroom.” Dick’s legs come into view, bare feet sinking into the carpeting, and Tim is moving forward without thinking, hands coming up to stroke the lean, muscled legs in front of him. He rocks back on his heels and smiles up at Dick. 

“Please let me suck you, Dick. Fuck my face. Please.”

The waters land on the carpeting and Tim has a moment to feel triumphant before Dick’s hands are in his hair, pulling him to his feet, pain spiking through him. 

“I thought I told you to _wait_.” Dick’s voice is an angry growl, even though his eyes are still dark with arousal. Tim struggles against the grip in his hair, forces Dick to shift his grasp to Tim’s arms, to hold him up and away as he kicks and twists, trying to bite. The back of the couch slams into his stomach with brutal force and Tim loses his air. It takes a moment to catch his breath, and by then there are fingers stabbing hard at the base of his spine, and then at the base of his neck, the sharp pain followed quickly by numbness. It’s familiar, Tim’s brain throwing up a flash of the last time Dick had used those pressure points in training. 

Tim knows that he won’t be going anywhere for a while, not on his own power. He’s trapped unmoving, draped over the wide back of the couch. 

“Dick!”

“I’m sure I told you to wait, Tim. Like I’m sure I told you not to chase Harley and stay with me.” Dicks hands are shaking against Tim’s arms as he stretches Tim out, leaving him bent over cruciform on the back of the couch. “So is it just me that you have problems listening with, or is it a bigger issue?”

The slap comes out of nowhere, made worse by Tim’s inability to move, to react to the startling impact. Heat blooms along the outside of Tim's thigh. A second blow follows on the other, wide, hot and unexpected. Tim gasps.

“Well?” 

Tim hesitates too long, takes too long to find his voice, because there are blows raining down on his upturned ass, his thighs, and he’s crying out with each blow, trying to convince his body to listen to him, to let him move. But there’s nothing but the heat, the building pressure and Tim knows that he would be rocking back into the next couple of blows if he could.

“I need it! I’m sorry! Please!” Tim sobs, yelling, and Dick slows, the next slap coming down on the inside of one thigh. “I need your cock, Dick, please, I’m sorry, I just need it. Let me be good, I can show you, I can!”

“I’m not going to _reward_ bad behavior, little brother.” Another slap to the inside of Tim’s thighs and he’s right, Dick’s right, of course. But then the spanking stops, and Dick is sitting on the couch beside Tim’s drooping head, bottled water and a straw in hand. “Drink.” 

Tim drinks, cool water easing the burning in his throat. He gets less than half the bottle before Dick is pulling it away, hand smoothing the sweaty hair out of Tim’s eyes. 

“I’m going to go get a couple of things, Tim. And when I come back, you’re going to have a choice.” Dick smiles, stands up and it’s no mistake that Tim gets a long look at the hard, leaking length of his erection. Dick is gone for too long, everything is too long, and Tim hopes that he’s not staining the couch.

When Dick comes back he lays two things out on the couch where Tim can see them. 

The belt is wide, heavy leather and Tim can see that it’s old but well cared for. 

The needle is capped and he thinks he recognises it as one of the sedatives they keep on hand for emergencies. 

“So. You’ve been reckless today, Tim. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. You ran after Harley when I told you not to. You came out here when I told you to wait. You don’t listen, you don’t obey. There has to be a punishment.” Dick’s hands are soft against the heat of Tim’s ass, the throb of pain that beats in time with his heart. “You get to choose the punishment though, little brother. I can knock you out. You’ll sleep through the rest of this, Ivy’s little gifts work their way out in a day or so. I’ll take care of myself, don’t worry.” Dick pinches the hot flesh of Tim’s ass and he squeaks, unable to even twitch away. 

“Or?”

“Or, you take twelve stripes with the belt. And then I’ll fuck you.” He pinches the other cheek and Tim lets his head fall forward, eyes on the belt.

“I want to suck your cock, Dick. Please.”

“Not on the table. Drugs and you go down for the count, or the belt and then I fuck you until you come. It’s not a hard choice, is it?”

“The belt.” Tim’s voice is almost too soft to hear. Dick leans in and he doesn’t need to ask. “Your belt, please, Dick. Please.”

“Good boy.”

Dick stands, the belt and the syringe vanishing from sight. Tim listens as hard as he can, tracks Dicks movements by the soft shuffle of feet, the sigh of the leather belt as Dick swings it idly at his side. 

“How many did I say? Ten?” Dick lays the belt along the small of Tim’s back and he knows this is a test. 

“Twelve. Twelve stripes, Dick.”

“So it was.” A gentle pat of his hand, the glide of palm against swollen skin. “Count.”

The belt slides off his skin, vanishes, and Tim is tense until he hears the whistle of it through the air, the bite coming too soon after to be anything but a shock. He shouts, rocked forward with the force, and chokes out, “One!” before it can be counted as a miss. 

“Two,” comes more slowly, the belt seeming to linger to caress the already overheated flesh of Tim’s ass. 

“Three!” Is a shock against the high rise of his ass, not hard enough to risk damage, but enough that Tim knows he won’t be forgetting this any time soon.

“Four! Five!” Are almost too fast to count, but Tim keeps it together, the burn of the belt's kiss moving down to the sensitive backs of his thighs. 

“Six,” curls around the outside of his thigh, drags another sob from his throat, and Tim is hard and leaking against the back of the couch. Grateful that seven, eight and nine are aimed to rock his still helpless body against the unyielding furniture.

He comes on ten, sobbing and begging Dick for more, for Dick to fuck him, to take him and make the needing end. 

Eleven catches the backs of both thighs and Tim knows that it’s almost over. 

Twelve is a long time coming, so long that Tim fears he’s missed it, that Dick is going for the needle. When it comes, it’s two quick flicks against the inside of his spread thighs, and Tim is nothing but shuddering breath and a hot mingling of pleasure and pain that has spread through his body until it has driven out every other sensation.

He whimpers when the hot leather is laid back over his spine, a lingering reminder. He expects to feel fingers breaching him, the stretching burn of Dick fucking into him, taking him finally. But there’s only a soft brush of fingers, a faint pressure as his legs are pulled together, pressed tightly so that the welts become newly sharp lines of pain.

“Good boy.” Dick is slick, sliding in between Tim’s heated thighs and Tim whines, as Dick fucks the swelling flesh, hips slapping against Tim’s bruised ass as he moves faster, harder, fingers digging into Tim's hips. 

Tim is begging, desperate for Dick to keep going, to never stop. His world is Dick, and Dick’s cock between his thighs, pleasuring himself, careless of how the smallest touch magnifies the burning in Tim’s flesh. 

When Dick comes, its with a snarl, his full weight coming down on Tim as he pulses between Tim’s thighs, staining him white. Tim chokes, breathes, and all he can think to force out is a soft, “Thank you.” before he relinquishes his hold on consciousness.

Tim wakes later, the sun in his eyes and Dick attempting to slip out of the bed. 

They’re in the master bedroom, so it’s Bruce’s bed, ridiculously huge and impossibly to get out of gracefully or quickly. Dick is sliding, trying to get his feet on the floor, and Tim has enough energy to reach up and stab fingers into the pressure point at the base of Dick’s neck. Tim doesn’t know he’s going to do it until it’s done, until Dick has fallen back onto the bed with a surprised shout, arms limp and useless at his sides. 

Tim smirks a little, the look of surprise on Dick’s face, helpless and gaping at the ceiling for a second is priceless, before wiping the grin off of his face. He doesn’t follow up with the second strike, leaves Dick’s legs free and flailing. 

“What the fuck?!?” Dick is struggling to roll his neck to the side far enough to see Tim, but he can’t manage it. Tim learned that strike the same place that Dick did and they both know how effective it is. How long it takes to wear off.

“Where do you think you’re going, big brother?” Tim pushes himself up on his arms to stare down into Dicks eyes.

“Timmy! I was just….”

“Sneaking off.” Tim smiles, and it’s not a pleasant one. There’s guilt in Dick's eyes, and Tim realizes he doesn’t want - can’t have that. He rolls his neck until it cracks, the release of tension a tiny rush. The bites there are already bruising, and he raises one hand to press at the one that aches the worst. 

“Look, this was- Ivy! I shouldn’t have…” Dick sighs and pushes up with his legs, awkwardly scooting back closer to Tim on the bed. “It’s easier to work it out of your body rather than knock you out. It hurts less on the come down. But I shouldn’t have done...some of that. I didn’t want you to feel like…” Tim can see the waving hands and the helpless shrug that Dick wants to make. 

“Mmmmhmmm. Dick.” Tim pushes the sheets down, flings them off of them both with an aching arm. Baring their mutual nudity to the sunlit room. He takes a second to look down Dick’s body, to take in details that are blurred notes from the night. His body throbs with pain as he moves, and Tim presses his hands into the bruises crisscrossing his thighs, the backs of his legs. Fresh pain joins the aches of the night before and Tim closes his eyes, focuses on how good he feels, how good everything felt. He opens his eyes and swallows hard, staring at Dick. “I asked you to do something for me last night, didn’t I?”

“Tim, it doesn’t-” Dick closes his eyes and Tim imagines he’s trying to will himself through the mattress and into the floor. “I’ll understand if you’re angry with me, Timmy. For not leaving you alone when you asked me to. But I was just trying to help.”

“No. I asked you to fuck my face, Dick.” Tim manages it without a stutter, all in one rushed breath. It’s nothing like his fantasies, not smooth, not seductive. Nothing like the man he imagines Dick would want to take to bed. But he’s got to do it now, while their memories of the night are still fresh, the bruises still aching, visible. If he doesn't, he may never get the chance again. His face burns hot with embarrassment but he keeps his eyes open and focused on Dick’s face.

“That was just-” Dick shakes his head, color crawling up his neck. Tim can see the muscles of his legs tensing out of the corner of his eye, can see Dick draw up one leg to try and hide the thickening of his cock. “You didn’t mean that.”

“Dick.” You asshole, he doesn’t say. Tim gets to his hands and knees and crawls down the bed, down to the end where Dick can’t quite see him. So that he can crawl back up until he’s between Dick’s legs. He watches Dick watch him, tries to angle his body so that Dick can see the marks he’s left all over Tim’s skin.

“Timmy!”

Tim leans down, chest almost onto the mattress and he’s never done this before, but there’s a heat in his stomach that has nothing to do with the ridiculous giggle that wants to escape him. He kisses the soft skin of Dick’s cock, dares to flick his tongue out just a little to taste sweat and skin and the heat of the sun warming them both. Dick twitches, his other leg coming up and Tim is bracketed by muscled thighs, fenced in but not pinned. It feels good. 

He follows the line of Dick’s thigh, his cheek brushing against the thickening length of Dick’s cock. Tim licks along the crease of Dick’s thigh, hands braced against the bed beneath him so that all that is touching Dick is Tim’s tongue and the teasing brush of his hair against the sensitive skin there. 

Dick’s breath is shaking when Tim brings his face down to the heavy weight of Dick’s balls, he chokes down on a groan when Tim’s breath puffs out over them right before Tim swipes his tongue across the dusky, delicate skin. Tim can still hear it, can feel the shudder through the body around him as he curls his tongue around one and then the other, the taste darker than the skin of Dick’s thighs, or even the faint taste of his cock that Tim had gotten. 

It’s sex, Tim thinks, his sweat and come mixed with Dick's and covering both of their bodies even if he can’t see it anymore. He can taste it though, and it brings back the shivering heat of the night before. Tim wants more, wants to see Dick laid out like he had been. An offering.

“Shit.” Tim sits up, turns his back to Dick, and he’s baring his teeth in frustration before he catches sight of the fancy decorative pillows that Dick must have tossed to the end of the bed the night before. He snatches one up, thick and velvety green and gold and he’s smiling by the time he turns back around to Dick. “Lift your hips, big brother.” 

There’s a beat when Dick just stares back at him, that Tim thinks Dick isn’t going to cooperate. That he doesn’t want Tim, not really, not without the pollen riding him and Tim is going to spontaneously combust. But then Dick is rolling his hips up, grace and power in the simple movement and he holds Tim’s eyes the entire time. Tim smiles, slides the pillow under Dicks hips and then he’s leaning down, ass in the air where he hopes Dick can see the welted lines from the belt.

“Go slow.” Dick’s thighs close around his shoulders, hold Tim still for a second before he eases off a little, skin still pressing against skin and Tim takes the hint, leans into Dick’s body and slowly, carefully, traces the curve of his balls with his tongue, his lips. Dick sighs, and Tim can picture his head falling back, eyes closing. He smiles and brings one hand up to cup the delicate flesh beneath his mouth. Tim writes his name across the crinkled, twitching flesh with the tip of his tongue, erases it with the flat and does it again and again, following imaginary lines until he’s covered every bit of skin he can reach with his tongue, until he’s got nothing but the taste of sex and Dick in his mouth, filling his senses. Tim opens his mouth, pants and moans as he stretches his lips around Dick’s balls, lets them rest on his tongue as he fights not to scrape his teeth over the skin, not to ruin this.

He’s drooling, spit thick and hot over his chin, and Tim sucks a little, trying to contain it. Dick whimpers, calls out his name. 

Tim does it again; harder, longer. Finds the curves of Dick’s ass with his hands and squeezes.

“Timmy,” Dick’s voice is heavy again, dark, and Tim can feel the ghost of last night, the sharp impact of hands on his ass, teeth in his neck. “Thought I was gonna get to use your mouth, Timmy.”

Tim shivers, releases Dick’s balls with a last kiss and then he’s licking his way up the underside of Dick’s cock. It's hard now, and leaking. Tim pushes up until he can see Dick’s face again. They stare at one another, arousal sharpening, and Tim licks the head of Dick’s cock with a flourish, gathering the clear drops of fluid that pulse out of his slit as he does. 

“Thought you said to go slow.” Tim licks again, draws his tongue over the head heavily, achingly slowly. 

“I did. Thought you said you wanted me to fuck your face, little brother.”

“I did.” 

Tim holds Dick’s eyes as he opens his mouth, as he lowers his head to let the weeping tip of Dick’s cock slip between his lips. He holds Dick’s gaze as long as he can, until he has to look down, has to change the angle to try and get more of Dick into his mouth. Tim whines, moans, and licks over every new inch of flesh, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he feels the head sliding further back into his mouth. 

“Pull back up, Timmy.”

Tim does, slowly, until it’s just the head in his mouth, firm and pressing his tongue down, holding him still and silent. 

“Again.” 

Tim slides down, down, down, until he can feel the stretch of his jaw opening for Dick, the swollen head nearing the back of his mouth. He whimpers, wants more. Knows he won’t be able to take it. Tim moves to pull back, to change the angle of his body so he can get a hand around Dick, so he can at least get the flood of Dick’s come down his throat.

Dick moves, faster than Tim can keep track of, and then his legs are over Tim’s shoulders, locked together with his heels digging into the lines of Tim’s back. 

“Just your mouth, Timmy.” Dick drives his hips up in a small roll and Tim gags, shudders at the feeling of Dick forcing himself further into his mouth, almost to his throat. One hand comes up to Dick’s leg, fingers dragging across slick skin. “I should hold you here until the strike wears off, you know?” 

Dick’s next move is a sharper jerk, the head of his cock is bumping against the back of Tim’s tongue. Tim whines at the tense throb of Dick’s cock in his mouth, the muscles beneath his scrabbling fingers twitching in pleasure. 

“You’ve got a mouth that’s just begging to be filled. I could cuff you, keep you down on your knees and just slide right in. This isn’t going to be the same - I can’t get my hands in your hair like this, little brother, can’t force you down the way you should be. You’ve never had a cock in your mouth before, have you?”

Tim whines, struggles to get a breath around the length in his mouth. 

“I didn’t think so.” Dick rolls his hips and he’s sliding out just a little, giving Tim some room to breathe. “You should be on your knees, little brother, just waiting for me to give you what you need. What you deserve. I could keep you under the desk, maybe? Ready and waiting for me when I need you. Or just out in the living room. You like that couch, don’t you?” Tim closes his eyes, vision swimming with the soft white weave of the couch. The dark brown line of the belt stretched across it in his mind's eye. He whimpers and swallows over and over again, pushes his head back down to take Dick’s cock further into his mouth. “Yeah. I’d fuck you raw, Timmy. You’d be tasting me for _weeks_.” Dick’s thighs tighten around Tim’s head. “Hold your breath, little brother.”

There’s not enough time for a deep breath, but Tim drags air in through his nose, gasps around the hard length in his mouth and then Dick is slipping further into him, into his throat. Tim gags, tears in his eyes, and he’s breathing ragged through his nose until he’s not, until there’s nothing but a hard stretch in his throat and the blurring expanse of Dick’s stomach in front of his eyes. 

He can hear his own heartbeat, can hear the gasps and cursing groans of Dick above him, the hard rocking of Dick’s hips beneath him shake the bed. Tim’s fingers dig into Dick’s thighs, clawing and desperate. Dick pulls back, the rush of air filling Tim’s heaving lungs is hot and tastes like sweat and skin and then Dick is pushing up again, burying Tim’s nose into the soft tangle of hair around the base of his cock and Tim can’t breathe again. 

Heat fills his face, rushes down his throat, his chest. Tim moans and one hand falls away from Dick’s thighs, reaches down to find his own cock hard and neglected between his legs. He strokes, moans breathlessly around Dick and his hips jerk forward without a thought. Tim rolls his eyes, half helplessly, and he’s staring at the heaving expanse of Dick’s stomach and chest as he clamps a shaking hand around the base of his cock. 

Tim whimpers at the pain, at the spots that are starting to dance in front of his eyes, and then Dick is pulling back again, air filling his lungs for brief seconds before Dick is back. Tim fights to stroke his tongue over the hot, twitching cock in his mouth but he’s stretched too full, held too open to do anything but whine and take it. It’s good, it’s perfect, he doesn’t want Dick to pull back. The next time Dick starts to roll his hips down and away, Tim follows, fights to keep the cock in his mouth, vision nothing but stars and a creeping blackness around the edges. 

“Timmy!” Dicks legs fall away, freeing him, but that’s not what Tim wants, not what he needs, and he swallows desperately, unsure if it’s a fight for air or for Dick’s come, but what he gets is a hot spurt of come hitting the back of his throat. He pulls back, shaky and dragging in less air than come as Dick continues to explode into his mouth, over his tongue. Tim swallows, swallows, and there’s so much that he can feel it leaking out around the cock in his mouth, dripping down his chin. 

Tim eases the grip around his own cock, strokes hard and fast, until he’s coming over his shaking hand, spattering the sheets with his release. 

He sucks, licks along Dick’s softening length until his own shuddering release is done, until he can’t quite feel his own legs anymore and Dick’s breath is a near sob, his hips trying to push down and away from Tim’s devouring mouth. When he finally pulls away, Tim collapses to one side, back bowed over the hard ridge of one of Dick’s thighs. 

“Jesus.” There’s a fumbling, uncoordinated hand in Tim’s hair, and he cranes his head back slowly to look up into Dick’s face. He’s still floppy, hot and sticky now and it’s not so important that Dick is throwing off the effects of the nerve strike a little faster than Tim had. “You okay, little brother?”

“Mmm.” Tim hums, and rolls into Dick’s body, until he’s half draped over him. He’s floating, staring out the window, every inch of his skin electric and burning so good. He tingles at the feeling of Dick’s fingers pulling on his hair before sinking in to scratch gently at his scalp. Dick’s other hand is tracing along his shoulders, over his chest. He whines as Dick finds the bites he left the night before and presses against them, one at a time. The pleasant ache goes straight to Tim’s cock.

“Jesus.” Dick repeats, voice coming from deep in his chest. 

“Mmmhmm.” Tim closes his eyes, lets his body be the only thing in the world for a few minutes. When he opens his eyes again, there’s a smile curling across his lips that he knows Dick can feel. “I want to do the desk thing.”

“What?”

“The desk. Where I wait for you and you can just come and use me.” Tim bites down on his lip, waiting for Dick to reject the idea. The protests from earlier don’t come, however. What does come is a hand sliding down his back to curl around his hips, pulling him in even closer.

“You’ll be naked, little brother. Just ropes, holding you down there for me, right where I want you. I might blindfold you, I don’t know. I like seeing your eyes, like seeing them tearing up and begging me. But I couldn’t see them anyway, not with you under the desk, just a sweet thing waiting for me. So I might as well take your sight away. And a gag, of course.” Dick brings up a shaking hand, runs his thumb over Tim’s mouth before slipping it between Tim’s lips, fucking his slack mouth with short, sharp thrusts. “Hold you open so you have no choice but to be a perfect little fuck toy for me.”

Tim shudders, exhausted cock twitching fruitlessly against Dicks hip.

“That the ‘desk thing’ you were thinking about, little brother?”

“Yes.” It’s a moan around Dick’s thumb in his mouth, and Tim whines at the feeling of Dick’s other hand sliding over his bruised thighs to brush over the entrance to his body. 

“Thought it might be.” Dick pinches at the soft skin where the curve of Tim’s ass meets his thigh.


End file.
